


In for a Ride

by karasunovolleygays



Series: Valentine's Kisses 2020 [12]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged Up, Futakuchi is an asshat, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: Goshiki's taxi to work gets heisted by a guy who lives in his building and works next door. Said guy is a douche, even if it is in a charming kind of way.
Relationships: Futakuchi Kenji/Goshiki Tsutomu
Series: Valentine's Kisses 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589239
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29





	In for a Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ramvne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramvne/gifts).



> This was written for my 2020 Valentine's Kisses series: 13. Butterfly kisses against the other’s cheeks.

Goshiki Tsutomu barrels down the stairs of his apartment building, muttering under his breath, “Crap, crap, crap, crap!”

It’s the worst season of the year for someone — namely, him — in the tax prep industry, involving overtime stretching well past when he usually turns in for the night, and days start earlier than ever. 

All of these completely predictable factors have colluded to ruin Goshiki’s day before it even starts, courtesy of a dead phone failing to roust him out of sleep at the unholy hour of four in the morning.

The bus will take far too long to get to work, so while shaving, he had managed to call a taxi to pick him up. A message letting him know his ride has arrived just as soon as he was able to squeak enough power into his phone to turn it on and leave it on.

On the ground floor, Goshiki sprints for the door, with years of volleyball-honed leg strength on his side. He sees the taxi at the curb for a moment, but as soon as he flies through the door, the taxi speeds away with someone who isn’t him in the back seat.

“No, no, no, that’s my —” When the taxi is out of sight, he sighs. “Ah, damn it.”

His entire body deflated, Goshiki wearily trudges toward the nearby bus stop. The next line heading for the shopping center where his office is at is scheduled to leave in ten minutes. That is, if the rush hour lines ever manage to leave on time.

Forty five minutes late, his computer at work is finally booting up so he can stay extra late to make up for lost time. Or not take lunch. He can’t figure out which is a more miserable concept.

Goshiki’s stomach makes that determination for him when it rattles painfully, devoid of sustenance since an early dinner the night before. He yawns all the way to the food court, hoping the stalls aren’t packed.

They are. Of course they are.

The shortest line is for a soba noodle stand, so he takes his place in the queue and tries to keep his brain awake enough to keep him from falling asleep standing up.

With a pile of noodles, though which flavor he had ordered he has no idea, Goshiki settles onto a small table on the outskirts of the food court and mindlessly shovels his meal into his mouth. 

His chopsticks stop midair when a familiar face catches his eye. “Wait, that’s —” Goshiki stabs into the noodle mound and his mouth pinches into a frown. “That’s the asshole who stole my taxi!”

Taxi Thief is around his age, with sandy brown hair and a smirk that begs to be smacked off. He totes a steaming plate of tempura while whistling jauntily, and Taxi Thief takes a table only a few meters away from Goshiki.

Fingers clenching around the edges of his plate enough to flatten the rim, Goshiki stomps over to Taxi Thief and claims the seat opposite him. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Taxi Thief clicks his chopsticks at Goshiki, shoots him a wink, and continues eating like he had never been interrupted.

Goshiki’s hands ball into fists atop the table, and an irritated growl sneaks past clenched teeth. “You took my taxi this morning and made me late for work, you douche.”

Taxi Thief quirks a brow, and with a mouth full of half-chewed food, he mumbles, “Oh, did I now?”

“Listen —” Goshiki eyes the nametag on the front of Taxi Thief’s uniform polo, displaying the logo from the sporting goods store on the base level of the shopping center. “Listen, _Futakuchi Kenji_ , I called that taxi specifically for me, so why the hell did you get in?”

“It’s a taxi, Cranky-chan.” Futakuchi pushes aside his lunch and leans forward on crossed arms, smirking at Goshiki. “That’s what they’re for.”

Goshiki feels his pulse rattle at his temples, and he squeezes his eyes shut. If he spends one more second looking at Futakuchi, he’ll end up getting arrested for attempted murder. “It was five in the morning. Taxis don’t start cruising that street until seven or eight, so if there’s one at the curb, it’s waiting for someone in particular. That someone was me, and that someone was late for work because you friggin _hijacked my ride._ ”

When he hears a choking sound, Goshiki cranes open an eyelid and finds Futakuchi wheezing with laughter into his palm. “Glad I could humor you.”

Futakuchi swallows his laughter and waves off Goshiki. “Seriously, dude, I’m sorry I hijacked your very own personal means of public transportation. I promise, next time I want to hail a taxi or take a bus, I’ll make sure I ask first.”

With that, he takes his plate to wander out of the food court and back toward his store.

Appetite completely ruined, Goshiki pushes his plate away, only to reel it back in. He’ll regret throwing it out later when he inevitably needs to eat, he muses. Instead, he takes it back to his office and tucks it into the refrigerator in the back.

It’s long past dusk before an exhausted Goshiki drags himself out of the office. The shopping center is freshly closed, leaving a few straggler shoppers and workers ready to flee the premises. 

Outside, Goshiki slumps onto the bus bench, not eager to wait another half hour for the next bus to his neighborhood to arrive but not energetic enough to do anything about it.

His skin prickles when he senses rather than sees someone sit next to him. A sidelong glance reveals the exact last person he wants to see. “You’re still here?”

Futakuchi yawns loudly and nods. “Yeah. It’s inventory time at the store, so I have to count a bunch of shit so people who count for a living can like...not do that.”

“Gross.” Goshiki doesn’t bother masking a yawn of his own. “Tax season.”

“Super gross.” Futakuchi mimics his slouch, and they sit in an easy silence for almost five minutes before Futakuchi breaks the stalemate. “So, uh, you got a name, or do I just have to keep calling you Cranky-chan?”

Goshiki resists the urge to smack the side of his shoe into Futakuchi’s shin, too weary to pick another fight. “Goshiki.”

“Nice to meet you, Goshiki-kun.” Offering a half-assed salute, Futakuchi stretches his limbs and splays his arms on the back of the bench. “Just so you know, when I got into the taxi, the driver just asked if I was going to Super Sendai, which I was, so that’s how I ended up hijacking your ride.”

“Oh.” Goshiki’s cheeks redden, and he throws an arm over his face. “That makes perfect sense, and now I feel like a jackass.”

Futakuchi harrumphs. “Happens.” He leans close to Goshiki and waggles his brows. “How ‘bout we share a taxi and get home a little quicker. You live in Hoshi Gardens Apartments, right?”

“Yeah.” Some of the weary haze surrounding Goshiki’s brain thins, and he sits up straighter. “You live there, too?”

With the cluck of the tongue and a finger gun, Futakuchi says, “Right you are, my man.”

The phrase ‘my man’ makes Goshiki’s skin prickle. He isn’t sure if he’s interested or annoyed; he’s way too exhausted to make that distinction. “Uh, sure.”

In a few minutes, they’re both in the back of a taxi, heading home at a blissfully brisk pace. Goshiki almost groans with pleasure at the sight of his building appearing far on the horizon. “Oh, god, yeah.”

“You in a hurry, Goshiki-kun?” Futakuchi leans close to Goshiki’s ear and adds with a whisper. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to get rid of me. I’m wounded.” His tongue flicks at Goshiki’s earlobe. “I thought we were getting along so well.”

The sensation of tongue touching his ear elicits a shiver from Goshiki. “I, uh . . . yeah, I . . . yes?”

“Mmm, aren’t you a sweet talker.” Futakuchi’s lips brush the line of Goshiki’s jaw and feather up his cheek.

Goshiki sees the driver glare in the rear view mirror before adjusting it away, but everything after that blurs together in a cocktail of pure feeling. He’s been laid a few times, but Futakuchi’s advances ooze intimacy unsuitable for public places even more than the actual deed.

“Mmm, I guess you can stay,” he murmurs, allowing it all to drown out the rest of reality.

However, the moist kisses on his cheek grow cold, and Goshiki finally realizes the taxi has already stopped. “What?”

Eyes wide, he watches Futakuchi saunter up to the door of their building, swaying to the beat of an inaudible tune. “Where is he — what the — what?”

A throat clears from the front seat of the car. Goshiki gawks at the fare meter, which displays the full price of the trip. “That son of a bitch.”

“Your boyfriend, not mine.” Hand out, the driver accepts Goshiki’s wadded up bills as payment with a nod. “Have a good night.”

“Yeah, great.” 

It’s a long trek from the curb to the lobby of the building, and Goshiki decides halfway there that he’s definitely taking the elevator. Inside the lift, he sags against the wall and laughs until tears swell in the corners of his eyes.

He has a feeling this isn’t the last he’ll see of Futakuchi Kenji, but stranger is the realization that he might even be okay with that.


End file.
